


Sleeping together

by angelfiregirl80



Series: Prompts [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5486894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelfiregirl80/pseuds/angelfiregirl80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He couldn’t wrap his mind around the concept of using such phrasing as “sleeping together” as an idiotic euphemism for sexual intercourse, when matter-of-factly, you do everything but sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Icanwritesee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icanwritesee/gifts).



> Enjoy!
> 
> To Icanwritesee, Thank you for your lovely comment

‘How did I end up here?’ Sherlock was astonished; he couldn’t believe where he was, and who he was with. Sure they’d been “at it”, as Greg so eloquently put it, for over two years now; but he still couldn’t believe his luck. The light seeped through the curtains of the otherwise dark room. He moved his hand and the light reflected on his ring; he smiled at the sight of it; they’ve been through so much already, but now they were safe, finally.

The light broke in, weakly at first, but now it had fought its way through the curtains, visibly affecting the other bed occupant. But he didn’t move, he was seemingly comfortable, and just moved his hand over his eyes, fleeting from the morning light. Sherlock turned ever so slightly and covered John’s face with his body. He looked peaceful and relaxed, and Sherlock wanted to keep him this way.

By looking at him he remembered the first time they had slept together, actually sleeping one next to the other, not the drowsiness that attacks a body after intercourse, but the real sensation of sleepiness that affects a body almost every time that a sofa is too comfortable to move to bed. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the concept of using such phrasing as “sleeping together” as an idiotic euphemism for sexual intercourse, when matter-of-factly, you do everything but sleep.

But he was digressing. He closed his eyes and caressed John’s back absentmindedly, his skin made him shiver still, every time he touched John he could feel electricity running through his body, every single time. He remembered that first touch, he thought he was imagining it, but he confirmed the feeling after he returned the phone, that first day at Bart’s.

After that, they had moved in together and that night they were solving crimes. He saved his life so many times, but that first time, just a couple of days after they had met made him regret ever saying he was “married to his work”. John was always claiming he wasn’t gay that he had almost, just almost, convinced Sherlock, but he would have to wait over five years to prove his theory.

After Irene drugged him, John had slept next to him that afternoon, making sure he won’t choke in his own vomit; when Sherlock was better; John left the room to make some tea or whatever, and then went back to what’s-her-face and shagged her to the mattress. Sherlock flinched at the memory, he wasn’t aware of his feelings yet, but he was left with an uncomfortable sensation, something he hadn’t felt for a really long time, he was left with longingness.

The second time they had slept together it was right before his fall. They were handcuffed together and Sherlock “failed” to get the cuffs off, so they had to share a bed. By then, Sherlock was certain that he felt more than friendly love for John, that he was actually falling in love with his blogger/doctor/flatmate; but he was adamant about him not being gay; though, after what happened with Irene, her supposed death and everything, John was more concerned about Sherlock’s whereabouts and checked on him every now and then when he was “sleeping”.

After the fall, Sherlock barely slept, his drowsiness state would immediately take him to happier moments, to John’s eyes, and his touch, his voice and his soothing words, his company. He would keep himself awake and focused on the task; keep John alive.

Nothing could have prepared him for the news he was about to receive when he came back. Of course he couldn’t have asked John to wait for him, but he could only wish that their lives could go back to a certain state of normalcy, whatever “normalcy” means. It was actually too much to ask, John had moved on, and his life had ended for the second time, now he had nothing to fight for.

The third time they slept together, they had just come back from John’s stag night; it wasn’t really sleeping, as much as lying at the bottom of the stairs, unable to move without the world spinning around them. They shared a few minutes together at those stairs only to be “interrupted” (not really though) by a client that needed help.

They had slept together, in the same cell that night, John on one bunker, Sherlock on the other, and that was it, no shared bed, no shared personal space, just the same cell, the same air, the same moment. After that, John got married; he made him his best man; he had to agree of course he had, even if it meant never seeing John again in his life. He had his Mary and was living in the suburbs, and he had left Sherlock, again.  

But something bothered him, Mary was a liar, she was hiding something, but what? He had to find out what. It was hard, especially because John seemed so enamoured with her, he was married now, and she was pregnant, John’s baby, or so she claimed; but after a while, he had found out all about Mary; or whatever her name was.

He considered John’s feeling towards her, and now he couldn’t deny he loved John _I’m not gay_ Watson, that his happiness meant more to him that life itself and he had tracked down the bastard that was threatening his happiness. But Mary, oh Mary… She shot him, and John left her and was back at 221B.

The fourth time they slept together John was having a nightmare, Sherlock was down at the living room and was playing his violin for him, but this nightmare was worse than any other and John was down the stairs shortly after. He sat on the sofa and asked Sherlock to sit next to him. Sherlock was hesitant at first but did as John asked; he always did as John asked.        

They talked almost all night, meaning that John talked, more like rant about everything, and Sherlock listened and occasionally nodded. He fell asleep there, next to Sherlock, in the sofa, heads together, it was right before Christmas and the next day, John had forgiven his wife and Sherlock had killed Magnussen and all hell got loose.

The fifth time they slept together was right after John came back to 221B, he had left Mary, she had lied; of course Sherlock knew she had lied, but he just received his friend with arms wide open (figuratively). That night John had asked him not to go and they slept on the couch like they had done many months ago.  

But that time something was different, Sherlock could feel it. John was clingy, almost as if he was afraid that if he moved his hand away from Sherlock’s arm he’ll disappear. The next morning, Sherlock was serving as a human pillow; John had shifted them during his sleep and was on top of Sherlock, holding him for dear life. That was the first time they kissed too, it was sloppy, needy; almost silly. Sherlock had to stop himself, he wanted John but he wanted the whole of John, not the bits and pieces that all their troubles had left behind.

It took some time, some sloppy kisses and many sleepless and lonely nights, they had talked it through; John was willing to accept that he loved Sherlock; Sherlock was willing to accept he loved John. They had been sleeping each on their own bed, not rushing to anything, waiting to be whole again, just for the sake of the other.

The night they did euphemistically slept together, they didn’t sleep at all, they explored each other’s body slowly and thoroughly; hands moved up and down over bristled skin, lips kissed places meant to be kissed only by lovers, mouths produced sounds meant for the ears of lovers, sighs and moans were drawn from one another.

The first time they “slept together”, they declared their love for one another, plans were made, kisses were stolen, caresses were shared and love was made time and time again; from that day forward they had slept together, truly slept together, in the same bed, kissing good morning and good night. During one of those sleeping together sleepless nights Sherlock proposed and John said yes, and they didn’t sleep at all.

And now, John was sleeping, actually sleeping, next to him, they had been married for a day now, they had left London and gone to Paris, he had wanted to take John to Paris for ages, and now he was here, with him. John shifted and hugged Sherlock closer, kisses left lips and words of love were said, and they didn’t sleep at all while sleeping together.


End file.
